My Christmas Wish
by Mummyluvr
Summary: It's Christmas, and Sammy's being a Scrooge. Thanks to him, Dean finds out that you should be careful what you wish for...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** My Christmas Wish

**Summary:** It's Christmas time, and Sammy's playing Scrooge. In desperation, Dean makes a wish, and, well, we all know the saying "be careful what you wish for." Obviously, Christmas is gonna be pretty interesting this year...

**Warnings: **Only spoilers for Devil's Trap and In my Time of Dying

**Disclaimer: **Well, the idea is mine, but the characters belong to some guy names Kripke. Go figure...

**

* * *

**

**My Christmas Wish**

December 24, 1987

Des Moines, Iowa

"He's not coming," four-year-old Sam Winchester moaned, staring out the window with large green eyes as light snow blanketed the parking lot of that year's seedy holiday motel.

"He'll be here," the little boy's brother Dean replied as he flipped through the old black and white TV's few grainy channels, "he's just running a little late is all."

"It's Christmas Eve," Sammy pointed out, "and he forgot again."

Dean rolled his eyes, finally settling on a station. "He doesn't forget, Sammy," the eight-year-old argued, "he just comes back late sometimes. It doesn't matter, though, 'cause he _always_ brings us presents."

It was the younger boy's turn to roll his eyes. "Magnets and keychains from gas stations don't count. 'Asides, I want a puppy."

"Dad's not getting you a dog, kiddo," Dean grinned, "now stop fogging up the window and come watch TV. It'll get your mind off dad."

Sighing heavily, shoulders slumping, Sammy trudged away from the frosted window and climbed up onto the bed beside his big brother. He sighed again, a sure sign of annoyance, as Dean flashed a large grin.

The Winchester brothers sat on the grimy bed in the even grimier motel room for a while, watching as all the Whos in Whoville began to sing.

"You know," Dean smiled when he heard another heavy sigh from his brother's side of the bed, "all those presents and trees and that fat guy in the suit are _way_ overrated. I mean, this holiday is the boringest one _ever_. Everybody eats the same, acts the same, watches the same three movies over and over again, and celebrates the same."

"Not us," Sam groaned, "we're _different_." He said the final word with more than just a slight hint of disgust in his voice.

Dean frowned. "Of course we're different. We're special. And you know what? That's a _good_ thing."

"How's it _good_? We're freaks."

"It means we get to start our own Christmas tradition," the older boy smiled, wrapping a thin arm around his little brother's small shoulders.

"What's a damition?"

Dean chuckled. He hated to laugh at Sammy, who had a nasty habit of getting mad at people when they offended him. He'd once dumped Spaghetti-Os all over Dean's lap when the older boy had made fun of him for a butchered pronunciation of his favorite food. "A _tradition_," he said gently, "is something that people do every year, no matter what. Like eating turkey, or opening presents."

"What can we do?" Sam asked, "we're stuck in a motel."

Dean shrugged, wishing he could just give the kid the normal Christmas he wanted, instead of some poorly improvised substitute. "We'll… do this," he offered, "every Christmas Eve, no matter what we're doing or what dad says, you and me are gonna drop everything and watch," he glanced quickly up at the TV to see a classic holiday villain cutting his curtains into a Santa suit, "we'll watch 'The Grinch.'"

Sammy looked skeptically at the fuzzy black and white images dancing across the screen. "Won't it get old?"

"That's the beauty of Christmas, buddy. They only show the movie for a couple of weeks each year, and if we only watch it on the twenty-fourth we'll probably end up forgetting half the movie before next year!"

The younger boy smiled and slid off the bed to turn up the volume. He was content with what he had, and that, for the moment, was enough for both of them.

o0o0o0o0o

December 23, 2006

Rapid Falls, Colorado

The door burst open, sending a swirl of soft white snowflakes scattering across the dark blue carpet of one of the nicest rooms the Winchester brothers had ever had the fortune to find. Dean staggered into the room, jacket pulled tightly around him for warmth, and struggled to close the door as the wind picked up.

"Freakin' storm of the _century_," he muttered as he gazed around the small room, "gotta be four inches on the ground now, at _least_."

"Weather report calls for more," Sam noted as he scoured the internet for the quickest path out of Rapid Falls, "if we don't get a move on, we'll get snowed in for sure, and we can kiss that ghoul hunt in Wyoming good-bye."

"There's no way I'm going back out in that," Dean said, "the ghoul can wait. Not like it's going anywhere."

"And neither are we, huh?" Sam asked dejectedly, shutting the laptop and eyeing his brother, who was dripping melting snow all over the carpet.

"Not until after Christmas, at least. Come on, Sam, it'll be fun. Just like 'The Shining.' You be Danny, I'll be Jack."

"We'll need a Wendy," Sam pointed out, pulling back the thick curtains that covered the windows and staring out at the white landscape.

Dean shrugged, slipping out of his jacket and boots. "We'll give Jo a call, get her up here, and I can beat her with mallet."

Sammy grinned, turning to his brother. "Do the world a favor?"

"They'd hold a parade in my honor once word got global, and that shouldn't take too long, considering the massive fanbase she's got going on the internet."

Sam shook his head, plopped down on one of the room's two beds, and sighed. Another year, another Christmas. At least this time there was snow, and the absence of a holiday hunt. For the first time in a long time, he would be able to spend a semblance of a normal family holiday with his brother (even if Dean _did_ have homicide on his mind).

That was when Sam noticed the box, just as he was starting to drift down into sleep. Dean was trying to shove it nonchalantly into a drawer, trying to hide it.

"What's that?" Sam asked, sitting up.

"What's what?" Dean replied innocently, blocking the drawer with his body.

"That box. It looked like you were trying to hide it."

"Oh," the elder mumbled, turning and pulling the drawer open, "this. Yeah, well, it was kinda supposed to be a surprise." He held out a small, slim, badly-wrapped package. "Merry Christmas."

Sammy eyed the box. "It's the twenty-third," he said, laying back down, "and you didn't have to get me anything."

"Sure I did," Dean defended, "you're my brother. Besides, you don't have to open it today. You can wait."

"I'm not gonna open it, period."

"Well, aren't _you_ a mean one, Mr. Grinch?"

"You know I've never really liked Christmas."

Dean nodded. "Or Halloween, or Easter, or Valentine's Day, or Thanksgiving. Hell, Sammy, you even hate _Flag Day_."

Sam sighed, rolling onto his stomach on the bed. "We never got what other kids got, Dean, and I know it pisses you off, too. I mean, the least dad could have done was spend a holiday or two with us."

"He did," Dean pointed out.

"Right," Sam scoffed, "I forgot about that black dog that nearly mauled you Thanksgiving '97, of the werewolf on Christmas the year before that."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that this year, do you?" Dean snapped, "dad's not here to ruin your holidays anymore."

Sam moaned into his pillow. It was going to be their first Christmas without their father, and though nothing seemed different to him, it looked like Dean was taking it hard. "Look," Sam offered, rolling back over to face his brother, who had returned the gift to its drawer, "I'm sorry. It's just that I never really had a Christmas until I met Jess, and now-"

"It just seems wrong," Dean finished, "yeah, I got that." He sat down on the other bed and sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands. "You can't just avoid the most popular holiday of the year, though. I mean, all things Stanford aside, your holidays couldn't have sucked _that_ bad."

Sammy shook his head. "Dad was never there, we got crappy presents if we were _lucky_. When I went off to school-"

"You got everything you'd ever wanted?"

"No. I mean, I missed a whole childhood, Dean. We got knives and guns for Christmas while normal kids got Hot Wheels cars and teddy bears."

"You turned out fine," Dean pointed out.

Sam sighed, laying back on the bed. "I just don't want to celebrate this year, all right?"

"Whatever, dude," Dean muttered, flipping off the lamp and struggling under the covers in the darkness.

It had been a long time since they had spent an actual Christmas together. The year before hadn't really counted, not with Sam drowning his sorrows in some run-down bar in Arizona while Dean had sat in the motel room, watching 'The Grinch' and waiting patiently for his brother's return. The elder had been hoping that things would get better between them, that maybe this year would be different. But their father was dead and Sammy was still playing Scrooge.

Dean closed his eyes and drifted down toward sleep, deciding to at least try and carry on the single tradition he'd laboriously kept alive over the years, even if Sam didn't want to be there to share it with him.

_Sometimes,_ he thought to himself as darkness took him, _I just wish I could give that kid the Christmas he wants._

* * *

So, as always, reviews are appreciated and keep me writing for future generations (and those of you who are wondering, my sequel to "On Angel's Wings" was put on hiatus for a while so I could type this one. Well, guess Dean can get hsi wings back now, huh? Look for it eventually.) 


	2. Chapter 2

Awesome! People actually read it. Well, this chapter's a little better than the last, I think.

Thanks for all of the kind reviews!

* * *

Dean groaned and rolled over. Sunlight was streaming into the room through a crack in the curtains, blindingly bright as it reflected off of the new snow in the parking lot. The hunter trudged to the window and stared out at the winter wonderland. At least three more inches had fallen since he'd gone to sleep, and someone was busily at work clearing out the motel's parking lot.

Sighing, Dean turned back to his bed, realizing that it was Christmas Eve and his brother was bound to be in a sour mood.

That's when he noticed it. The bed. _Sam's_ bed. Empty, save some rumpled sheets and a lump that was probably a pillow.

Sam's shoes were still by the door, his bag still unpacked, and the bathroom door still hung open. All that amounted to was a lot of confusion for Dean, who couldn't imagine his brother leaving the room barefoot in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm. But if he wasn't in the bathroom, where was he?

Beginning to worry even though there was no logical reason to (nothing supernatural in the town meant that there was nothing to kidnap Sam, right?), Dean called his brother's name. The lump under Sam's sheets began to stir. Odd, considering the lump couldn't be more than three feet long, and Sam was twice that height.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, reaching a tentative hand out to the squirming mass of blankets.

A little head popped up from under the covers, dark unruly hair sticking up in an odd assortment of angles, green eyes tired and confused. "Huh?"

Dean fell back onto his bed, startled. He recognized the little boy in his brother's bed. He _knew_ the kid. But it couldn't be. No, that was impossible.

The boy stared at the hunter, eyes slowly clearing as he woke up, and the hunter stared back. They sat in silence for about five seconds before the kid bolted from the bed and sprinted toward the door. Dean jumped up and blocked his escape, and the boy turned on his heels and ran for the bathroom, locking the thick door behind him.

Dean sighed, heart pounding, and scratched his head as he trudged to the bathroom door. He leaned up against the wall beside it and slid onto his butt.

_Sam._ That kid was Sam. No older than six, but still his little brother. Now his _very_ little brother.

Muffled sobs could be heard through the closed door. "Sammy," Dean said softly, "you all right?"

"Why would I be all right?" a little voice answered. Dean had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Sam's voice was so squeaky! "You kidnapped me!"

Dean's face fell, all laughter dying on his lips. Kidnapped? _Shit_. Kidnapped. He didn't remember, actually thought he was a little kid. Sam didn't even recognize his own brother, which was kind of a kick in the teeth for Dean, who had practically raised the kid.

"I didn't kidnap you," he replied slowly.

"Then why am I here? Who are you, and where's my dad? Where's Dean?"

The older man smiled. Sometimes he forgot how much his brother had really needed (no, _wanted_) him as they were growing up.

"Well?" Sam's squeaky little voice pressed, and Dean could tell by the volume that the kid was either curled up in a corner or sitting in the shower, staying as far from the door as possible.

He sighed. There was a choice to make, two options in front of him. He could either tell the kid the truth, admit that something weird had happened, though he had no idea what; or, he could tell a lie, say that he was one of their dad's friends who had come to the rescue after an accident had left the elder Winchesters in the hospital.

"Your dad's… kind of busy." Because telling the kid that his dad was dead was probably a bad idea. "And… kid, I know this is gonna be hard to believe, but your brother's here. _I'm_ Dean."

He heard Sam snort. "Sure. My brother's ten. You're _old_."

Dean grinned. Not the reaction he'd expected, but at least he had a better idea of his brother's current age, and the kid was willing to talk to him.

"I'm twenty-seven, dude. It's 2006."

"Liar. Why'd you take me? When my brother gets ahold of you-"

"What am I gonna do," Dean asked, "kick my own ass?"

"Ha! That proves it. You can't be Dean. He doesn't cuss."

"Not when dad's around," the older man countered, "but when it's just you and me… you think it's kinda funny."

"How-?"

"And you're afraid of the McDonald's clown, but you laugh at me when I freak out about Elmo."

Dean could hear tiny footsteps padding across the tile on the other side of the door. Good, he was getting through.

"You don't like Big Bird, either." The voice was closer.

"Blame Alfred Hitchcock for that one," Dean grinned.

"I still don't believe you, though."

The elder nodded. "I totally understand. In your position, I probably wouldn't believe me, either. But I've been skeptical of you before. Remember when," he paused. It hurt to drudge the memory up, embarrassed him more than anything else, but he was sure it would convince his brother. After all, they were the only two who knew the secret. "Remember when you helped me out… for you it would have been last year? Even though I didn't think you could? Man, you sure got those teachers off my back… saved me an awkward moment or two with dad." He paused again. Damn, this was hard. He still hated to admit it. He'd been nine years old and had to turn to a five-year-old for help with the simplest of tasks. Truthfully, it wasn't even his fault. It was his father's. They'd moved around so much those first few years, and Sam had just picked it up faster. "Remember when you taught me to read?"

The door creaked open and Sam stuck his head out. "You already knew a little," he muttered, "mom taught you some. I didn't help much."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid. You saved my butt."

The door opened all the way and the boy stepped out, staring at Dean with wonder. Finally, he nodded and sat down, half-in and half-out of the bathroom. "We're still hunting," he muttered sadly, gazing around the room.

Dean bit his lip and looked over at his brother. Great. Far more powerful than the puppy-dog pout was the cute-little-kid-puppy-dog pout. And Dean had never been able to deny that face anything, even if it meant lying a little. "No," he said, "we're not. _I_ am. You just took a little break from school for the holidays."

"I'm still in school?"

"College," Dean nodded, "_Stanford_. Just a hop, skip, and jump form the IVY League, kiddo."

Sam inched closer, obviously interested. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," the elder grinned, "full-ride, too."

"And dad?"

"Proud of you."

"Where is he? You said he was busy."

"He's, uh… on a demon hunt. Won't be back for a while."

Sammy nodded. "He's never here. Sometimes I don't even think he cares."

"He's just trying to keep us safe," Dean defended, not liking where the conversation was headed. He stared down at the kid, finally getting a good look. It was definitely Sam, the lack of a haircut was proof enough for that. He was wearing the same baggy red t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before, only now he was swimming in it.

Dean stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants, even though it wasn't necessary in the nice room. "You know what you need?"

Sam shrugged. "An explanation?"

"That'll come later," the adult grinned, "I hope. Right now, though, I'd settle for fitting clothes if I were you."

He walked over to the duffel bag that had been thrown onto a chair their first night in town and began digging through it. Finally, he found what he wanted and tossed it to Sam.

"What's this for?" the boy asked, standing up to inspect the old black sweatshirt.

"It's Christmas Eve in Colorado," Dean explained, pulling on his boots and coat, "it snowed about half a foot last night, and all you've got is a baggy t-shirt. Trust me, you'll need that."

"It's Christmas Eve?" Sammy asked, pulling on the sweatshirt (which was still about 20 sizes too big) and clumsily following his brother to the door.

"Yep," the elder nodded, wrenching open the door and staring into the parking lot. It was snowing again, lighter this time, and there was a thin layer of white powder on the blacktop.

Dean glanced down at his brother. He might not have been smart enough to get into Stanford, but even the experienced hunter knew that snow and little bare feet didn't mix well. Sighing and pulling his car keys out of his pocket, Dean reached down and grabbed Sam, settling him into the crook of his arm to carry him to the Impala. He got the sudden feeling that it was going to be a long holiday.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow. glad so many people are getting into the Christmas spirit and wrapping up lots of pretty little reviews for me! Now it's time for a gift for all of you! That's right... chapter 3!!!!

* * *

Dean was thankful for Wal-Mart. So thankful, in fact, that if it had been Thanksgiving (and Sam had been willing to celebrate) he would have dedicated the whole freakin' dinner to the place. Yeah, he was _that_ glad it existed. 

He tried to ignore the odd stares from other shoppers as they passed him by. Really, what was wrong with shopping for kids clothes with a little boy wearing only a too-big sweatshirt? Obviously a couple of new outfits were needed.

It was a bit harder, though, to ignore Sam's wide green gaze as he stood beside his big brother, watching him flip through a rack of Spongebob and Cars shirts.

"You OK?" Dean finally asked, temporarily abandoning his search and glancing down, "you believe me about this right? You believe I'm your brother?"

Sammy nodded. "My brother never woulda told _anyone_ what I did last year, so you _must_ be Dean."

The older man grinned. "Why're you staring at me, then?"

Sam blushed, glancing down at his bare feet as another staring couple passed. "You got tall."

Dean's smile widened. "Really?" he knelt down, "you wanna know something cool?"

"What?"

"_You_ got tall_er_."

Sam looked up at him, something that still didn't seem right in his older brother's mind because Sam had been looking _down_ at him since he'd hit puberty. "_Really?_"

"Sure thing," Dean said, pulling out his wallet and digging through it for a recent picture. He finally found one and held it out to the boy. "See for yourself."

Sammy took the photo, which had been snapped by Jo Harvelle in Pennsylvania and had caught both brothers off-guard, and inspected it closely as Dean stood up and continued to search for suitable clothing. "That's really me?" he asked, pointing to the lanky man with the cast.

"In all your geeky glory," the older man nodded, pulling a shirt off the rack and deciding that it would have to do.

"And I broke my arm?"

"Wrist, actually. Fighting a zombie." He stopped, realizing what he'd let slip, and searched his mind for a reasonable lie to cover it up. "In a video game. You were playing a video game with one of your friends. He, um, was the zombie, and you were the zombie killer. You got up to get a drink, I guess, and tripped over the cord. You landed wrong and broke your wrist."

"Oh," Sam nodded, though he didn't look too convinced. He handed the picture back. "Did I win?"

Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief and tried on a grin that felt too fake. "No, I think you forfeited on account of the hospital visit." He looked over the various clothes in his hands. A thick coat, a few shirts, one pair of jeans (because this couldn't really be permanent, could it?), boxers, socks, gloves, and a pair of snowboots. "Ready to go, kiddo?"

o0o0o0o0o

Sammy had gotten dressed in one of the bathroom stalls before they'd left, and Dean was pleasantly surprised to find that everything he'd bought fit almost perfectly. The pants were a little long, which was odd, considering they were _Sam's_ pants, and he didn't often have that problem.

But things had changed, and that fact was just starting to sink into the older hunter's mind. His brother was six years old. He was supposed to be twenty-three, and he was six, three feet shorter than he should have been, and light enough for Dean to effortlessly carry through an icy parking lot. Man, whatever they'd ticked off, it wasn't good. This was some serious magic.

"You OK?" Sammy asked. They were back at the motel, and the little boy was hanging back by the car with the bags while Dean struggled with the door.

"Yeah, just thinking," he nodded. OK, so staring off into space with the kid around probably wasn't the best idea, and, it wasn't like Dean was new to prospect of raising him, so things could always be worse. If he could get through the holidays they could head out to Bobby's place, or do some research, maybe even head to Harvelle's (which was closer anyway) and try to figure things out. Until then, maybe it was time that they spent Christmas together. They were, after all, all they had left.

Dean was busy thinking, furiously swiping a card key through the slot in the door and trying to get that stupid little light to turn green, when he felt the first snowball hit him hard in the back.

The hunter turned to see Sam standing innocently by the car, bags at his side. "What?" he asked, shrugging slightly.

"Did you see someone hit me with a snowball?" Sammy shook his head. "Oh. Ok. Must've imagined it." Dean turned, stuffing the cardkey into his pocket and discreetly grabbing a handful of snow from the drift that lined the short sidewalk that led up to the door.

It didn't take long for another snowball to hit him. "You know," Dean sighed, "this means war." He spun around, ready to throw his own weapon, but Sammy got the jump on him, and the hunter soon found his face covered in freezing snow.

Grumbling and wiping Sam's snowball from his face, Dean lunged toward the kid, intent on pushing him into one of the two snow banks lining the sidewalk, but slipped on the ice and fell. He went sprawling on his stomach on the icy pavement, sliding ever closer to his intended victim.

Sammy saw him coming and turned to run away, but tripped over his pants and fell face first into a snowdrift. It didn't take long for Dean to gain his feet and plop down beside him.

Sam looked up, shaking his head to clear snow from his long hair and eyes. "You fell down," he giggled.

"So did you," Dean pointed out.

"You fell _first_."

"Sidewalk's icy. _I_ have an excuse."

Sammy smiled. "Wanna build a snowman?"

Dean nodded, pushing himself up out of the drift and extending a hand to help his little brother. He couldn't remember the last time they'd made a snowman together, wasn't even sure they'd had a snowball fight before. Their dad was too strict, and even if they happened to be someplace where it snowed, they'd never been allowed to go play in it. "Keep in mind," he advised, wondering how exactly to _start_ a snowman, "you may have won that battle, but the war is _far_ from over."

"Oh, I know," Sam grinned, following his big brother toward the vacant lot next to the motel and grabbing a handful of snow on the way, "I know."

o0o0o0o0o

Dean grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels as the shower hummed in the background. It had been an intense snowball fight, becoming truly serious when a poorly-made and lopsided Frosty had lost his head. Dean had come out on top, though, taking the victory with what Sammy had called 'an unfair tickle attack.'

They'd gone in, soaking wet, craving something warm to eat. Sam had slipped away for a quick shower, leaving Dean to search their luggage for something edible that could be heated in a small microwave. They'd had a box of hot chocolate packets and a couple of bags of microwave popcorn shoved into a far corner of the Impala's trunk.

The microwave beeped loudly as the shower turned off and the sweet smell of fresh popcorn mingled with the scent of the cooling cocoa. Having found what he was looking for on the tube (on a previously unknown network with a sickly green color scheme, of all places!), the hunter dropped the remote and went to grab his lunch.

Hot chocolate and popcorn in hand, Dean flopped back onto his bed. The bathroom door opened, sending a quick billow of steam into the room, and Sam appeared, pulling on a shirt. He sniffed the air. "What smells like chocolate popcorn?" he asked.

"Lunch," Dean grinned, nodding toward his brother's cup of cocoa on the counter.

"That's not lunch," Sammy scoffed, pushing long, wet strands of hair away from his shining green eyes.

"It is when that's all you've got to eat."

"You should have bought food when we were at the store."

Damn, Sammy could make him feel guilty sometimes. "Excuse me for being a little distracted," Dean offered, "but I woke up and my kid brother was actually a kid. We'll just have to eat out for dinner."

"It's Christmas Eve," Sammy pointed out, "nothing's open."

"We'll find something," the elder assured, turning his attention to the TV in time to see Clark Kent dashing through a cornfield at lightning speed as an announcer begged audiences to watch 'Smallville' (and maybe the show after it, if they had the time and 'Grey's' was a rerun).

"What're you watching?" Sam asked, grabbing his hot chocolate.

Dean grinned. "'The Grinch,' what else? Wanna watch it with me?"

Sammy just stared at him, eyes mistrusting, and for a minute, Dean was sure the kid would say no. Maybe the adult's memory had been deceiving him all these years, maybe Sam had silently called off their only tradition when he'd been six, and not ten. Maybe, in his mind, this was the year that decided to actively strive for normalcy and hang out with friends, leaving his brother alone in some dumpy motel room to watch the Grinch's heart grow.

But Sammy smiled and plodded across the room with little bare feet. He climbed up onto the bed beside his big brother and snuggled close. Dean felt sudden relief spread over him as he wrapped an arm around shoulders that seemed too tiny to really belong to Sam. It wasn't going to be another holiday spent waiting for his brother to get back, just hoping he was safe, thinking that maybe this would be the year for Sam to remember and give in and actually watch the freakin' movie. Just one more time would have been enough.

Well, that time had, apparently, come, and it was looking like the Winchesters might actually get to spend Christmas as a family for once. A broken family, sure, but a _family_, nonetheless.

"Popcorn?" Dean asked, passing the bowl, not even trying to hide the sudden burst of happiness and belonging that came along with the rebirth of his only holiday tradition.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, it's time for another update, and time to find out WTF is going on here!

* * *

The Impala pulled to a stop in an abandoned parking lot in the middle of town. A dim light shone from the curtained windows of the only open joint in the strip mall. "See," Dean grinned, climbing out of the car, "I told you we'd find a place."

Sammy looked skeptically at the small buffet. "Why'd they still be open?" he asked, slipping his tiny hand into his brother's as they started toward the sidewalk that wrapped around the building, "it's Christmas Eve. They should be with their families."

Dean bit back the retort that immediately bubbled to the surface of his mind. In truth, Sam didn't have the right to judge those people. He'd left Dean alone plenty of times on Christmas, and it had never seemed to bother him.

_But he's different now,_ he told himself, barely even noticing that Sam's hand had slipped from his grasp, _he hasn't done any of that yet. He hasn't even _dreamed_ of abandoning you. This year, he actually needs you more than you need him, and-_

Dean spun around on the sidewalk, heart pounding, age-old mantra repeating over and over in his head as he realized that he was alone. _Protect Sammy._

The hunter was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw that he _hadn't _lost his brother. Sam was standing in front of one of the small, dark shops, staring into the window with sad eyes.

"Whatcha lookin' at, kiddo?" Dean questioned, shoving his shaking hands into his jacket pockets and walking up to stand beside the boy.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing." He spun on his heels and headed toward the buffet as Dean glanced into the store. Marionettes and creepy-looking dolls hung from the ceiling and stood on shelves inside the little shop. Model cars were proudly on display in the back, and Dean noticed with some disdain that there weren't any '67 Impalas in the collection. Bratz and Barbies mingled in a small toy pool just under the front window, and a tiny train chugged its way around a track in the middle of the store.

Of course. All the things he'd never been able to give the kid, at least, not while he was still a kid himself. Dean had wanted to leave the motel rooms plenty of times to pick up something special for Christmas, but had never had the money. And after the shtriga thing… So, he'd holed up in those grimy rooms with his little brother, effectively cheating the younger boy out of a childhood.

"I _tried_, though," Dean muttered quietly, turning to see Sam waiting for him at the restaurant's door, "I really did." He glanced back into the shop, a brilliant idea hitting him so suddenly that it hurt. "And this year," he grinned, heading toward the buffet, "I'll try harder."

o0o0o0o0o

Dean squinted down at his little brother's plate. It made sense. Sam had always wanted a 'traditional' Christmas dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, beets, a couple of biscuits, and something that slightly resembled jello were all piled high on the six-year-old's plate. "Looks good," he commented.

Sammy slid into his seat and looked at Dean's plate. He wrinkled his nose. "You got _chicken nuggets?_"

Dean shook his head. "No way." He took a bite from one of the nuggets and held it out for Sam to see.

"Eww!" the boy recoiled, "they deep-friend macaroni?"

"'S good," the elder mumbled through a mouthful of breading, cheese, and noodles, "better 'n' the crud I usually make."

Sammy looked at his plate, pushing a tiny piece of turkey around with his fork. "Your sandwiches are ok."

"Sam, do you even know where dad finds the turkey for those holiday dinners of ours? It's in the back of the grocery store, nestled between the hotdogs and the bologna."

Sammy shrugged. "You tried."

The older man shuddered at the familiarity of the words. "Hey," he said softly, "don't lie, all right? I can take the truth. Besides, lying doesn't become you."

Sammy smiled sheepishly. "Ok, so the _were_ kinda lame," he admitted, "but it's not like dad made things easy."

Dean nodded slowly, turning back to his macaroni only to find that he'd lost his appetite. He instead turned his attention to the restaurant, which was empty, save the two Winchesters. It was done up in a dark red, gold, and green theme (very Christmas-y). Chairs were stacked atop tables and the only employee sat in a back corner, watching the brothers eat and waiting to close up.

"You haven't talked about it," Sammy said, rousing Dean from his mental critique of the restaurant.

"Talked about what?"

"Me. What happened. It's been almost a whole day and you haven't even tried to figure out what happened to me. Don't you care that I'm not a grown-up anymore?"

The hunter sighed. He'd had a feeling this conversation would be coming, and he _still_ wasn't ready for it. Truth was, he had no idea why this had happened to his brother, no idea what could have done it. There was no paranormal activity in the area, and the last job the brother's had worked hadn't exactly screamed 'if you piss me off, I'm gonna curse your handsome ass!'

"Honestly," Dean began, a small smile playing a this lips, "you're easier to deal with as a kid. I can ground you if I want." Sam just stared blankly back at him. "I _have_ thought about it, kiddo, and I _do_ care, all right? But there are no red flags in town, and last week…" he trailed off, catching himself before he slipped. The week before, he and Sam had been hunting a lone shifter just south of Vancouver, but he couldn't tell the kid that. "Last week I went up against a skin walker northwest of here. That pretty much rules out witches and curses."

"But it's not normal. Something had to have done this. It's gotta be supernatural."

"I didn't say it wasn't, Sam. I just don't know what it could have been right now, that's all."

"Shouldn't you start researching or something? That's what dad always does first."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it is, but I figure this can wait until after Christmas. Everyone else gets a break, so why not us? We'll start looking for help or something after the twenty-sixth, and we can leave town just as soon as the roads clear up and the weather decides to start making nice with holiday travelers. Besides, it might be a weak enough spell or whatever that it just wears off on its own. So, sound good? We got a plan?"

Sammy nodded slowly, turning back to his food. "I guess."

Dean smiled, watching his brother eat, as he began to plan. As much as he absolutely hated the thought of leaving a six-year-old Sam alone in a motel room in the middle of the night, he had to do it. The kid deserved to have at least one semi-normal Christmas in his life.

o0o0o0o0o

"I'm sorry." The statement came so suddenly from the silence that, had he not been busy driving back to the motel, Dean probably would have jumped right out of his shoes.

"What?" he asked, glancing at Sam.

"I said I'm sorry," the little boy muttered, "I ruined your Christmas."

Dean sighed and pulled the car into an empty parking lot. He had a feeling that this would require his full attention. "You didn't ruin my Christmas. Why would you think that?"

Sammy shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, it _had_ to be me. You wouldn't 'a' done this to me."

"What're you talking about, kiddo?" Dean asked softly, turning to the boy, "and try to go slow, OK? I'm not the quickest study, and it might take some time to catch on."

A shadow of a smile touched the boy's face. "I didn't think it was true," he whispered, eyes shining, "I thought Jimmy was tricking me to get back for when I beat him in that race in gym class."

"What did Jimmy tell you? Because, you know, Sam, Santa's real, no matter what some stupid boy from school says."

"That's not it. I know Santa's fake. If he was real, he would bring us stuff every year. It's not about Santa."

"What, then?"

"He said it was an old family legend. Said his grandpa had told him. I just laughed, but now… now it makes sense. I know why I'm not a grown-up anymore."

Dean leaned a little closer. "Why, Sam?"

"It's not a curse," Sammy said quietly, the tears shining behind his eyes finally beginning to fall, "_or_ a spell. It was a wish, and I made it."

The older man sighed. How anti-climactic. No ghost to bust, no witch to hunt, just a school-boy's story about wishes.

_I just wish I could give that kid the Christmas he wants._ Suddenly, it wasn't so anti-climactic anymore.

"What's the legend, Sammy? Do you remember?"

Sam nodded, wiping his eyes. "He said… Jimmy told me that if you're a good person and you make a wish on Christmas Eve, it'll come true. That's what his grandpa said, anyway."

Dean leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand warily over his face. What time had he thought that? When had he made that wish? It had to have been late, because he'd taken his brother's gift to the Kinko's around eleven. He couldn't have gotten it back to the room from getting it bound until five 'til twelve, meaning he'd gone to bed after midnight. It had, officially, been Christmas Eve. _Shit._

"I must have made a wish," Sam explained, "when I was a grown-up, because the last thing I remember, you were ten and tucking me in and it was 1989. I didn't wish to mess up your Christmas _then_, so it must 'a' been _now_. I'm sorry, Dean."

The elder man heaved a sigh and pulled the boy into his arms, creating an awkward and shaky hug. "Listen to me, kid. This isn't your fault. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. And you didn't ruin my holiday. You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything."

Sammy shook his head. "Of course I did. How can you not be mad?"

Dean rested his chin on the boy's head, breathing in the scent of the motel's shampoo. "You're my brother. I could never be mad at you. Besides, it's Christmas. We'll fix this, Sammy, I promise. We'll just take a little time off to think first."

Sam sighed. "If we knew what I wished for, it wouldn't be a problem. Granting it should break the spell or whatever, and I'll grow up again."

"Makes sense," Dean nodded. There was no doubt about it anymore. He was going to have to leave Sammy alone that night, if only to fix his own stupid mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

Just so you know, there's a stroy behind this chapter. I really, REALLY wanted to write a Winchester Night Before Christmas. One night, I settled down in my room with a pen and notebook and started to write it. However, parts of it could only make sense when infused into a story. Chapter five is the result. Enjoy!

* * *

Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, Dean couldn't help but smile. Sammy was standing on his tiptoes in front of the sink, meticulously scrubbing away at his pearly whites. It had been a long time since Dean had had to do this, a long time since he'd had to make sure that Sam got every tooth, and was tucked in tight, and said his prayers. He'd never realized before just how much he missed it.

"All ready?" he asked as the bathroom light clicked off and Sammy came tottering out.

"All ready," the boy grinned. He was practically swimming in the old t-shirt his brother had given him to wear to bed (because, of course, being the genius that he was, Dean had forgotten to get pjs for the tyke), and had almost tripped over it twice by the time he'd climbed into bed. Dean crossed the room and tucked him in.

"Aren't you gonna read me a story?" Sam asked as Dean started to turn away.

"Uh, I don't really know any," the hunter confessed, "but I guess I can try. What do you want to hear?"

"The Night Before Christmas," the boy announced.

"Of course," Dean nodded, "the story I've only heard two or three times in my life. Good choice."

"Just try to tell it," Sammy begged as his brother sat down on the bed. "_Please_. I don't mind if you mess up."

Dean sighed. "I'll try, but I've gotta warn you, I'm not the best storyteller in the world, so try not to laugh _too_ much." He settled back on the bed, and closed his eyes, trying to think. Man, he couldn't even remember how the freakin' poem _started_! "Ok," he said after a short pause, clearing his throat and trying on his best storytelling voice, "so, uh… _'Twas the night before Christmas… and in the… small room… not a creature was stirring in… the… deep, dark gloom?"_

Sam nodded his approval, smiling and knowing that he was in for an interesting bedtime tale.

"_No stockings were hung,_" Dean continued, his confidence growing, as his fumbling brain finally latched on to something that could pass as a storyline, "_no presents in sight. For Sammy and Dean, it was another dull night. Both boys were nestled in motel room beds, dreaming of demons dad soon would make dead."_

Sammy nodded again as the radiator kicked on in the corner of the room.

"_For John was out hunting yet once again, leaving those boys… for themselves… to fend? When off down the street came a puttering sound, the kids jumped to the window to look all around. The window was fogged by the little boys' breath, as they frantically searched to the right and the left._ Good so far, kid?"

"Yep," Sammy grinned, "but that's not the how the _real_ story goes."

"Screw the real story," Dean scoffed, "this one's better. Now, uh, where was I? Um… _The moon was reflecting off dirtied-up snow, and blinding the boys as they cleaned the window. Then out of the road they both saw appear, a shiny black car drawing ever-so near._"

"Was it dad?"

"I'm getting there. _With a tired old driver so bloodied and sad, they knew right away that it was their dad._ Answer your question?"

"Yep."

"Ok… _Fast as General Lee, the car straightened the curves, and as John stepped out, he uttered a few choice words. 'Son of a bitch,' and 'demons be damned! Dean, open the door, I need to see Sam! It's Christmas, you know, and I've come home early, to give the kid presents, though he _is_ kind of girly."_

"_Dean!_"

"Lemme finish," the hunter chuckled, "_As Dean opened the door, he knew dad was drunk. His clothes smelled like smoke, and his breath really stunk._ See, now, Sammy. There's a reason for everything." Sammy just rolled his eyes.

"_The car's engine clicked off and John stumbled on in, tired and depressed after that night's hard win. He slumped into a bed and made a small sound, and dumped his torn jacket onto the ground. The boys shared a glance, and turned to their dad, eager to see all the presents he had._"

"What did he get us?" Sam asked, now sitting up in bed, eyes wide.

"Give it time," Dean answered, "it's coming…_ John heaved a great sigh as his sons scooted closer, and Dean placed a hand on his daddy's big shoulder. 'You said you had gifts,' Sam said, looking at John. Dad nodded and pulled out a box with a… yawn?"_

Sammy giggled.

"Hey," Dean muttered defensively, "it rhymes! Anyway, _the package was wrapped with a pretty blue bow, and the paper was dusted with fast-melting snow. Dean handed the box to his brother just then, who ripped open the paper with a big winning grin."_

"So what is it?"

"Just wait. _The box beneath paper was covered in holes, and had started to shake, as if it was cold. The brothers both started as the box yipped real loud, and John started to snore- a sickening sound. Then Dean took the box and gave it a shake. It started to growl, so it wasn't a cake."_

"_What_?" Sammy asked, wrinkling his nose.

"So, I'm not the best poet in the world. Deal with it, kid. _Sam grabbed back the box and opened the flap, and out jumped a fluff-ball, prepared to attack. It shook its small head and lost a few hairs, erasing all doubt as to what it was there._ Is that OK? 'Hairs' and 'there?'"

"It would be," Sam said sweetly, "if the sentence made sense!" Dean rolled his eyes. "Ok, ok. It's fine. Now, what's in the box?"

"_Looking up at the boys with eyes gray as fog,"_ the older man recited, finding that, after a while, the whole rhyming thing actually got to be pretty easy, "_was what Sam wanted most: a little boy dog. Sam muttered 'thanks' as Dean tucked dad in tight, making Christmas, for once, a merry old night._ The end."

"That was good," Sammy smiled, "see, I knew you could do it."

"Yeah, but that whole cake part kinda sucked, right?"

"It was ok, I guess."

Dean shook his head. "Whatever. Ready for bed now?" Sammy nodded and snuggled back under the covers. The older hunter leaned down and kissed the boy's forehead before stiffening as the realization of what he'd just done hit him. _What if he remembers when he changes back?_

Sam didn't seem to think the action odd at all, and smiled up at his big brother. "Good night, Dean."

"'Night, Sammy," Dean mumbled, still a little embarrassed after what he'd done. He wasn't even sure _why_ he'd done it, it had just seemed right. But if his brother remembered… well, there went the tough-guy act. Now he had years of ridicule and torture to look forward to. Merry freakin' Christmas. He sighed and flipped off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

"I love you."

Dean was halfway to his bed before he froze, his heart skipping a beat and his stomach dropping as something warm welled up behind his eyes. How long had it been since his brother had said those words to him? How long had he been forced to believe that Sam hated him? How long…?

"I love you, too, Sammy," Dean replied as he climbed into bed.

o0o0o0o0o

He wasn't a selfish person. The only thing he'd ever really wanted was a family. After everything he'd seen in his life, everything he'd done, he deserved that much, didn't he?

Dean sighed. He was sitting on his bed in the dark room, staring at Sam, turning a container of salt over and over in his hands. Decision time. The moment of truth.

If he followed through with his plan, and if Sammy's wish theory was right, Dean would wake up on the twenty-sixth to find his brother fully grown. If he was selfish, though, and just laid back down and went to sleep, Sam would stay a kid, and be forced to grow up again.

This time around, though, things would be different. Dean was older. Old enough to become Sam's legal guardian. Old enough to go out and buy a nice little apartment for the two of them, get an honest job, drive Sammy to school everyday. He was finally old enough to give his little brother the one thing he'd always wanted, just as long as he skimped on Christmas each year.

_Gotta love the specifics,_ Dean thought. He'd wanted to give that _kid_ the _Christmas_ he'd always wanted, which explained Sam's current age. But it also meant that no Christmas would keep him that way. It was perfect.

Well, perfect for Dean. But Sam? He'd have to find out what had really happened to John eventually. Maybe he'd even figure it out by himself, he was a smart enough kid. That being said, it probably wouldn't take him too long to find out what was really behind the age-regression, and why Dean was suddenly so willing to settle down but ignore Christmas each year.

"But he deserves it," Dean whispered, keeping his eyes trained on Sam's sleeping form, "and so do I."

More than that, though, Dean _wanted_ it. He'd forgotten how nice it was to have someone not only _need_ to have you around, but actually _want_ to have you around. To have a little kid with innocent eyes trusting you so much, loving you unconditionally.

It wasn't like he thought Sam didn't love him, because Dean knew, deep down, that he did. Still, sometimes a person needs reassurance, and if you spend a couple of years just trying to keep a guy around… well, let's just say that his faith in Sammy had been shaken when the younger man had left for Stanford, and later for Sacramento, and then for…

The list went on, and didn't even cover the short trips Sam had taken to his friends' houses every holiday starting the year he'd turned ten. Those friends had been normal, and welcomed him in, and somewhere along the way, Dean had just been forgotten. Some freak sitting alone in a motel room on Christmas Eve. The only teenager who still watched 'The Grinch.' Definitely not normal, and left feeling unwanted on the best family holiday ever invented.

So, yeah, Dean wanted to keep him.

The hunter sighed, standing up and stumbling silently through the darkened room. He started spreading the salt by the doors and windows, knowing that it would protect Sammy while he was gone. Once he'd finished with the salt, Dean pulled out his car keys and headed for the door, hoping to find a store that was still open.

He threw one last quick glance back at his sleeping brother, heart heavy with disappointment. Dean had never gotten what he wanted before, so why start now?


	6. Chapter 6

Merry Christmas, everyone! OK, so it's a little early, but it's the thought that counts, right? Right.

So, it's time to see what Dean's up to now that he's decided to help his little brother out.

* * *

It was starting to get cold in the car, but Dean didn't mind. He was almost done. He'd been more than thankful for Wal-mart that night, after finding it to be the only 24 hour store open on Christmas Eve. It was his one-stop spot for decorations, gifts, wrappings, and some things he hadn't really been sure he'd need at first.

While shopping, he'd had two great bursts of inspiration. The first revolved around the single thing that Sammy had always wanted, ever since he was a little kid. Dean figured it was probably the thing that had started the whole 'I wanna be like everyone else' whine. Well, it had taken some major planning and a little illegal breaking-and-entering, but Dean had gotten it on his way back from the store. Now the little fluff-ball was fast asleep in the back seat of the Impala, snoring softly.

The second great idea had come while he was grabbing a fake tree, some ornaments, and lights. Sam had said he didn't believe in Santa, and only finding gifts for himself under the tree probably wouldn't make his season bright. So, Santa was going to give _both_ Winchesters a little something for Christmas. It was going to be perfect.

Dean scooped the little ball of fluff out of its tiny bed in the backseat and placed it carefully into a box. It was the final present, and would have to be hidden somewhere warm and out of sight. He wanted Sam to open this one last.

The tree, stockings, decorations, and a few of the presents were already inside, having been set up in the car so as to not wake the sleeping boy. This one, however, might pose a problem. "Just keep quiet in there," Dean whispered into the box as he covered it with thin tissue paper and tied on the big blue bow, "or else." The box's only response was a small shudder followed by a quiet snore. Perfect.

The hunter set the gift down and opened the door, which creaked loudly. He reached into the car and grabbed the remaining presents before closing the door and heading back into the room. He'd been out since midnight, and now the sun was starting to rise over the small town. Sammy was an early-riser by nature, so it would be futile to try and go back to sleep now.

o0o0o0o0o

Head falling slowly onto his chest, eyelids heavy, thoughts muddled, Dean had never imagined his little brother could sleep until ten. Sure, he was bound to wake up any minute, but that didn't change the fact that Dean hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. That, coupled with the latent stress that came along with waking up on Christmas Eve and finding that your brother was 17 years younger than he was supposed to be, had a tendency to make a body sleepy.

Finally, though, Sammy started to stir. Dean just sat there in his bed, watching the boy wake up, stretch, and finally open his eyes and gaze at the room around him. Flashing lights bordered the walls and two fully-stuffed stockings were set beside the small tree that sat atop a mound of poorly-wrapped boxes. A wreath hung on the door and Christmas music was playing softly from the room's small radio. "Wha-?"

"Guess who came last night?" Dean asked, smiling, as the tiredness that had almost overtaken him just a minute before faded away to be replaced by the pride of a job well-done and the soft pang of guilt that came from the knowledge of what he could have had.

"But, I thought," Sam mumbled, climbing out of bed to get a closer look at the heavily-decorated tree, "I mean, Santa _can't _exist. He would have come before if he did."

Dean nodded. "There's a reason for that. See, all those years we spent hunting and moving around, dad forgot to tell Santa where we were going. So, this year I took the liberty and filled out the Change of Address forms and sent them to the North Pole."

"Really?"

"Yep. It's something you find out about when you're 18."

Sam slid off the bed and walked slowly over to the tree. He reached under it and pulled out a small box. "This one's for you," he said, sounding a little surprised.

"Didn't think Santa would forget me, did you?"

"Well, no…"

Dean grinned and joined his brother on the floor. "So, what's first? Tree or stockings?"

Sammy stood up and shrugged, heading over to the chair where he'd folded up his jeans the night before. "I dunno. What did you used to open first? You know, _before_?"

The older man sighed, reaching forward and pulling up the two overflowing red stockings with the names taped on them as Sam struggled into his clothes. He tried to think back. Had it always been this hard to remember what Christmas with the whole family had been like? He could remember the year before Sam had been born, could vaguely remember his parents telling him that he was going to be a big brother as the wind howled and the snow flew outside. His grandmother used to make Christmas cookies, and she would always send them in the mail. They would decorate the tree together, just him and his mom and dad. But that was it, and even that precious little bit was blurry in his mind's eye.

"Let's go with the stockings first, kiddo," he finally replied as Sam came back to sit beside him.

Sammy nodded and pulled up the oversized sock, tipping it over and watching with wide-eyed wonderment as its contents pooled onto the floor. Dean followed suit and watched as his little brother ripped into the first of many gifts.

"It's a car," Sam noted, holding up the small Hot Wheels toy that sat in the box.

"So it is," Dean nodded, opening up his own car, "what do you know? I got one, too."

"Why would Santa bring us cars?" Sammy asked, opening up the rest of them and looking mildly disappointed.

"Because he's psychic," the elder brother smiled, pulling a large box from under the tree, "and already knew what I'd gotten you." He pushed the box up to Sam, who just looked up at him.

"You got me something?"

"Open it."

Sam faltered, then ripped into the paper, tugging away tape and the bow to find a Hot Wheels track. He looked up at Dean with wide eyes before turning back to the toy. "You got me…"

"You said you always wanted one," Dean shrugged, ripping the paper off of a mini Impala.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, "it's just-"

"Hey. Less talking, more unwrapping. We've got a freakin' mountain to get through before we can even _think_ about having fun with this stuff."

Sammy smiled, an action that, oddly enough, seemed forced, and pulled up another box. "Sounds like a plan."

Dean smiled and finished going through his stocking before pulling out the few things he'd gotten for himself (from Santa, of course) and watching Sam finish off his own gifts.

It wasn't long before stuffed animals, Hot Wheels, spy gear, various board games, and a working telescope were scattered across the floor, mingling with Dean's pile of already-opened gifts (including a new pocket knife that he was incredibly glad he'd found).

"You've got one more," Sammy noted as Dean stared at the box. The older hunter nodded, knowing full-well what was hidden under the mound of paper. He'd seen it in the store and thought of buying it for Sam, as a joke, but then decided against it. What was Christmas without a chance to make fun of Santa's humor?

"What do you think it is?" Dean asked innocently as he started to unwrap the rectangular box.

"I dunno," Sammy said, kneading the mushy pillow his brother had bought him, "what do _you_ think it is?"

Dean shrugged, ripping off the paper and slumping his shoulders as the bright pink cardboard came fully into view. "Man," he moaned, "Santa's got a twisted sense of humor."

Sam started laughing, a genuine sound that was music to his brother's ears. Well, if nothing else, the gift could be considered a job well done. "He got you a _Barbie_?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, _no_. I _believe_ it's Beach Fun Ken. Not a Barbie. _Ken_. There's a difference."

The little boy snorted. "No there's not." He took the toy and looked it over once before turning back to his brother. His eyes went back to the little plastic doll. "That's just creepy," he muttered, shoving the box back into Dean's hands.

"What?"

"It _looks_ like you."

"You think?"

Sammy nodded. "It's kinda hard to see at first, but… yeah. Yeah, it looks like you."

The older man glanced back at the doll. "Huh. Well, if you say so, kid."

The boy pulled the Hot Wheels track forward and started opening the box. "So," he began, "now that we're done, you wanna play?"

Dean shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Sammy, but I can't."

"Oh," he mumbled, ceasing to fiddle with the box and hanging his head dejectedly, "I understand."

"No, it's not because I don't want to, because I do. It's just that you were wrong. See, there's still on present left."

Sammy leaned down and peeked under the tree before sticking his arm into his stocking to dig around. "I don't see it."

"That's because it's in the bathroom," Dean smiled, standing up and heading toward the closed bathroom door. He pulled the door open and walked inside, emerging a few seconds later with a large package topped with a big blue bow. "From me to you," he grinned, handing the box to Sam before sitting down on the edge of his bed, "go on. Open it."

The kid looked at the box for a moment before shaking it a bit. The thing inside it started to growl, causing Sam to jump back and drop the box in surprise. He looked up at Dean with large, confused, and (could it be?) hopeful eyes.

"Somehow, I don't think it's a cake," Dean shrugged, heart melting at the look of joy and understanding that crossed his brother's face.

Just as in the story the night before, Sammy ripped off the bow and paper to reveal a box covered in holes. A little black nose peeked out of one of the circles and sniffed the air as something inside the box began hitting the cardboard to make a thwacking noise.

Sam opened up the box and gasped as a small head poked out and dark, soulful eyes looked at up at him. "You got me a _puppy_?" the boy squealed, his voice rising an octave in excitement as he pulled the little mutt out of the package.

"Sure did," Dean grinned, realizing that, as much as he might be losing, he'd done the right thing by leaving the night before as he watched the boy scoop the little yellow fluff ball up in his arms.

"What kind is it?"

"He's a mutt," the hunter shrugged, "and he's probably gonna be pretty small, judging by the size of his feet. You like him?"

"I love him!" Sam gushed, setting the puppy down on the floor to jump up and wrap his arms around his brother's neck, "thanks so much, Dean. You're my favoritest big brother _ever_!"

* * *

Just a little author's note for those of you who like to read Plastic!Winchester Theatre. I am a fan, and I wrote this chapter about a week ago, before the Christmas PWT went up. For the record: Beach Fun Ken IS a reference. Hot Wheels were unintentional.

Also, for anyone who thinks they are a Supernatural fan but have no idea what PWT is, I suggest you look it up. It's freakin' HILARIOUS!


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again for all of the reviews, guys!

* * *

"We're gonna need food," Sammy said, watching the little dog scamper off after one of the old tennis balls Dean had dug out of the duffel bag (because, you know, if all else fails, challenging a demon to a friendly game of tennis is an excellent way to defeat it).

"Already taken care of," Dean assured, wrestling the ball out of the puppy's mouth, "food, water, collar, leash, bed, the whole shebang. Relax, kid, I planned ahead."

Sammy smiled and relaxed a little, tossing the tennis ball back across the room for the dog to chase. He and Dean were sitting on the floor, resting up after a busy morning (really, Dean was just putting off tackling that Hot Wheels track). "We still need to name him, though."

"Well," Dean suggested, "he's probably gonna be one of those little yippy things, and he's blond, he tried to pee on me last night when I got him, and he's already bitten me twice. Let's call him Joe."

The puppy lost interest in the ball immediately after hearing the name and began to chew on Dean's pinky. It was almost as if he personally knew the girl that the hunter was referencing.

Sammy wrinkled his nose. "_Joe_? Why not Scraps, or Scamper?"

"Do you want all the other dogs to make fun of him? We'll call him Cujo."

"Kinda small and fluffy for a Cujo," the boy pointed out, "how 'bout Chris, 'cause we got him on Christmas?"

"All right," Dean nodded, "that's fine, but we should at least _spell_ it cool."

"How?"

"Take out the 'h' and add an 's.' he could be like Mindfreak." He saw the clueless expression on his brother's face and grinned. "Sorry. Ahead of your time, I guess. He's a magician on TV. We've caught him a couple of times. He can walk on water and go through solid glass and steel and stuff. Pretty cool."

"C-r-i-s-s," Sammy said slowly, "yeah. Ok. Criss it is."

Dean nodded, shaking his hand to detach the floppy-eared mutt from his finger. "Sounds good to me. I'll head out and grab the stuff, and maybe later we can go to Wal-mart and get some tags for the collar." He stood up and headed toward the door. "You'll need to have tags on him when you take him back to Stanford, you know."

"Hey, Dean?"

The hunter turned, half-way to the door, to find Sammy standing up with the little puppy in his arms. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"We've been over this, kiddo," Dean sighed, "it's not your fault. Besides, I-"

"Not for that. Not anymore. Now, I'm kinda glad this happened. It was fun. I'm sorry you thought you had to lie to me."

"What're you talking about, Sammy?"

The boy set Criss down on the floor and hung his head. "I'm not in school, am I? I've been hunting… with you."

Dean sighed and sat down on his bed. Well, this was certainly an unexpected problem. He rubbed a hand over his face as Sammy plodded across the room to stand in front of him. "You're too smart, you know that?" the elder mumbled, trying desperately to figure out what to do about this, "too damn smart." He pulled the boy up onto his lap, feeling ten times worse about lying than he had in the beginning as Sam snuggled up against him.

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered.

"Don't be," Dean muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around the kid, "it's my fault. Man, I was just trying to get you to believe me when I told you that. I figured, I dunno, maybe you'd be a little more open to the possibility if I told you what you wanted to hear. How'd you figure it out?"

Sammy shrugged and pointed at the duffel bag. "You said I was just visiting for the holidays, but we only have one bag."

"_Way_ too smart," Dean marveled, shaking his head, "but you're right. I lied, even if I wasn't _completely _untruthful."

"What do you mean?"

"You really _did_ get a full-ride to Stanford, and dad was proud, and you spent four years trying to become some stuffy old lawyer."

"Then… how'd I end up here?"

"Something bad happened," Dean explained quietly, "and you thought that coming with me might make it a little bit better."

Sam nodded. "So, I actually left all of this? I got away, at least for a while?"

"And then you came back."

"But things aren't the same now."

"What gave you that idea?"

"If it's a tradition," Sammy mumbled, sliding off his brother's lap and going back to playing with Criss, "you shouldn't have to ask."

o0o0o0o

The jet black '67 Impala puttered along the slippery road as Sammy talked animatedly about that night's dinner plans. He seemed to genuinely forgive Dean for lying, and even seemed to understand where his big brother was coming from. Even better, he was content with cold lunchmeat sandwiches for dinner that night (all the better to save up what little money they had).

The conversation about the Winchesters' traditional Christmas feast was cut short, however, by a loud screeching noise. In a perfect moment of déjà vu for the older hunter, a semi ran a stop sign, sliding along the slick street, and hit the car head-on.

The Impala spun off the road and hit a barricade before flying through the air and landing in a ditch. Everything was silent for a moment, both brothers too shocked to speak. Suddenly, a fiery explosion rocked the peaceful Colorado countryside, the boom echoing throughout the mountains as Sam laughed.

"What's with the sound effects?" the boy asked, grabbing the tiny semi off the Hot Wheels track before his brother had a chance to catch his breath after voicing the explosion and move in for a little vengeance.

"Don't blame me," Dean defended, setting his poor little baby back on the track, "_you're_ the one that one that ran into _me_."

"Yeah, but _you're_ the one who sent it off the track and pretended to blow it up!"

"What can I say? It's just not as much fun without the explosion."

Sammy opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off as Criss suddenly jumped up from the mound of wrapping paper he'd been playing in and bounded toward the track. The little mutt ran past, grabbing the tiny Impala in his mouth as he went, and began scratching at the door.

The brothers looked at each other. "Think he's gotta go?" Sam asked, standing up and moving toward the door.

Dean shrugged, getting up and grabbing the leash as he followed the six-year-old to the door, "not sure. But if he doesn't give me back my car-"

Sam spun around. "It's a toy. I think you'll live."

"Whatever," the elder muttered, attaching the leash to the little pup's collar and attempting to work the little Impala out of the dog's mouth. Criss, unfortunately, liked his new chew toy _way_ too much to let the hunter get it back without a fight.

Sammy opened the door and the puppy ran out into the cold before Dean could get a good hold back on his leash. The dog slid across the ice and ran straight through a snowdrift, dropping the little Impala before slowing to a stop to take a leak.

The brothers stood inside the room and stared out at the puppy, who now sat in the lawn, patiently waiting for them. "Thing's as smart as you are," Dean muttered, standing up and grabbing his coat, "get your snow stuff on. We're finding that car."

Sammy rolled his eyes and fumbled his way into his new coat and boots before heading out toward the puppy. Dean, meanwhile, began digging through the snow to find his latest prized possession.

It wasn't long before Criss and Sam were rolling around happily in the snow in the lot next to the motel. It didn't take much longer for Dean to find his car, covered in warm remnants of dog saliva and covered in little doggy-tooth-mark dents. He stumbled through the drifts into the lot, where yesterday's lopsided snowman still sat, shoving the little Impala into his jacket pocket and grabbing a handful of snow. Criss was going down.

The little puppy was busy trying to keep Sammy's glove away from him when the first snowball hit, shocking the fluff-ball into giving up his latest toy. Sam, of course, avenged his new friend's near-demise by lobbing a couple of snowballs at his big brother's head.

And so began Winchester Snow Wars, Part Two.


	8. Chapter 8

One chapter left after this. It's your Christmas present. Happy holidays!

* * *

They were out of deli-sliced turkey, but that didn't seem to bother Sam. He was just fine with PB&J. "Remember when you used to ask me to sing that stupid Barney song when I made lunch?" Dean asked as he put away the few remaining food items they had.

"The peanut butter and jelly one?"

"Yeah, that's it. You know, I still remember all the words. I blame you."

Sam laughed, digging into his dinner as soon as his brother had set it in front of him. "Not my fault. I just asked you to sing it, no one _made_ you."

Dean sighed and set down a bowl of food for the puppy before finding his own seat. He ran a hand through his cold, wet hair, glancing quickly over at the soaking clothes they'd hung over a chair after the day's snowball fight. "So," he began, "you have a merry Christmas?"

"Are you kidding me? It was the best one ever! I wish… I mean, I'd _like_ to do this every year."

The older man caught the change of words and set his sandwich back on the plate, looking across the small table at Sam. "Seriously, kiddo, this isn't your fault. Stop beating yourself up over it."

Sammy gazed down at the floor, apparently very interested in how Criss ate. "But it _is_ my fault. You couldn't have done it. Why would you want to? And worse yet, I finally got what I wanted for Christmas."

_Yeah, that is bad,_ Dean thought to himself, _for both of us._ "Why you so down? You should be happy."

"I… you gave me everything, and I didn't get anything for you. I just messed everything up. You should 'a' been out having fun this year, and instead you had to stay back here and take care of me. I'm sorry."

"I don't need anything for Christmas, man. I've already got everything I wanted." _Everything you _wished _for, you mean._

Sammy looked genuinely confused, an expression Dean wasn't used to seeing on his little brother's face. "What do you mean? Did you always want that Barbie? Or the Hot Wheels? Was it the weapons?"

"First off, it's not a _Barbie, _it's Ken. Second, that wasn't it."

"Then what was it?"

Dean paused, staring at the little boy across form him. He wouldn't be that little for long, and there was always the chance that he would remember everything. Still, the kid's eyes were wide and his lower lip stuck out in that adorable pout that Dean had always been powerless against, so, what could it hurt, really? "You," he said slowly, "I got you."

Sam's expression softened. "Really?"

"Yeah. You were right about things being kinda rocky between us. We haven't really spent Christmas together in a long time. Not since before you left for college."

"Oh. How long before?"

The hunter sighed. "You were ten when you started hanging out at friends' houses or just going to the park or whatever. Um, you were nine the last time we really celebrated together."

"So," Sam asked cautiously, avoiding his brother's eyes, "you and dad just hung out, then?"

"Sure, yeah, sometimes. Now eat your sandwich. It's getting cold."

o0o0o0o

"You really think that I'll be back to normal tomorrow morning?" Sammy asked as he finished brushing his teeth.

"Depends. Think you got what you wished for?"

"I dunno. Do you?"

"Yeah. I think you got it."

"Good," the boy smiled, flipping off the bathroom light and plodding over to the puppy's makeshift bed to wish the little fluff-ball a good night, "you deserve to have your brother back."

"You _are_ my brother."

"I'm too young," Sammy reasoned, turning away from the snoozing puppy and climbing into his bed, "you know that."

Dean sighed. "Makes you feel any better, young or old, you're still a major pain in the butt."

Sam grinned. "Thanks. I think."

"Don't mention it," the elder shrugged, scooping Criss up in his hand and depositing him onto the boy's bed, "I think he wants to sleep with you tonight."

The kid yawned, snuggling under the covers as Dean pulled them up to his chin. "You know," Sam muttered, "I kinda wish I knew what I'd wished for. I wanna know why I did it. Why now?"

Dean gulped, sitting down on the bed. "You wanna hear a story tonight?" he asked, an idea hitting him and worming its way deep into his mind, refusing to let go until he'd done the right thing, told the truth (at least, _most_ of the truth, because there were some things that an adorable six-year-old just didn't need to know).

"Sure. You can pick tonight."

"I was hoping you'd say that. See, once upon a time, there were these two guys. They loved each other very much, and-" He stropped, laughing, as Sam's eyes went wide and his eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. "Dude, _no_. They were _brothers._"

"Oh. Ok."

"So, these two _brothers_ had that whole _brotherly_ love thing going for them, right? Now, the older boy looked out for the younger one, and promised not to let anything happen. They were really close for a while, and spent every waking minute together, but then the younger started to change."

"What did he do?"

"Well, he started hanging out with his friends instead of his family, and fighting with his dad a lot. Time went by, and he got older, and he moved out of the house. A few years after that, his brother went and got him at college. He really needed his little brother's help for something."

"For what?"

"Woman in white."

"Oh."

"So, they went out to fight the ghost together, and some stuff happened, there was a fire, and they decided to stick together. Things weren't the same as they'd been, though, and the younger guy didn't want them to be. He wanted to be normal. That Christmas, he decided to hang out alone, and his brother just waited in the motel room for him."

"What was the older one doing?" Sammy asked.

Dean grinned. The kid caught on fast. "Watching 'The Grinch,' what else?"

"That's what I thought."

"Well, his brother finally stumbled back to the room and fell asleep. And that was Christmas. The next year, the older one went out and got his brother something really special, but the guy didn't want it. Said he didn't really feel like celebrating. So they went to bed."

"_Together_?"

"They had separate beds!"

"Oh, well that's ok. So, did the older one hear his brother say something that night? Did he hear what the younger one wanted?"

"No," Dean said, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. This was harder than he'd thought it would be, even in fairy tale land. "The older one waited for his brother to go to sleep, and then he thought about the day. He thought about his brother had always wanted something more. Something _normal_. Right before he went to sleep, the older one made a wish in his head, not really thinking anything special would happen, just because it felt like the right thing to do. He wished that that kid could get the Christmas he'd always wanted. And it came true. The end."

"Wait," Sammy said slowly, sitting up in bed and looking at Dean closely, "that's it? Didn't they live happily ever after?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

The boy nodded. "So, that's what happened? That's why you keep telling me not to feel bad? It was you? You did this?"

"Yeah. It was me, but I didn't know. I mean, really, what are the odds of a wish like that actually coming true? And even if I'd known, I never would have expected this. It was an accident."

Sam stared at him, evaluating him, passing judgment. "Well," he finally muttered, "thanks."

"What?"

"Thanks. This was the best Christmas I've ever had. _Ever_. And it worked out great, 'cause you got what _you _wanted, too. Thanks a ton." He wrapped his arms around his big brother and pulled the older man close. Dean returned the hug, totally in shock, and, again, regretting a few recent choices. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sammy wouldn't be so supportive the next morning.

* * *

OK, so I thought I'd do soemthing different in this story and go for deliciously sappy. Please tell me it worked, because if it didn't I can always go back to killing the characters (I do that REALLY well). 


	9. Chapter 9

Last chapter. End of the line. Wow. Been fun, huh?

Anyway, as always, thank you all for reviewing. It means a lot. Oh, and Merry Christmas. I would have given you all money, but I'm kinda broke, and figured you'd like to see what happens to Sammy a lot mroe than $20. :)_

* * *

"Love you, Dean."_

_"Love you, too, Sammy."_

Not a real conversation, couldn't have been. Not a memory, Dean had been too old. A dream? Freaky-psychic-vision dream, most like, because his head ached more than it had in recent days.

Days. Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Christmas. Like Chris. No, not Chris. _Criss_. Spelled cooler, so the other dogs wouldn't beat him up. Dean had wanted to name him Cujo, but Sammy hadn't stood for that. No dog of his was going to be named after a monster.

Monster. Grinch. Together, side-by-side, with popcorn and hot cocoa. There'd been cocoa at the buffet, but they'd both gotten Coke. Dean had gotten macaroni, and Sammy…

Sam sat straight up in bed a little too fast for his aching head. The room spun once before his mind cleared and all of the connections finally clicked. _"Jimmy said… thought he tricked me… it was a wish, and I made it."_

Sam looked around the motel room, at the tiny tree that still sat in one corner, at the lights and the stockings, at the small puppy that had curled up beside him. Slowly, he climbed out of bed, waking the dog, which yawned lazily.

_"You got tall."_

_"_You_ got tall_er_."_

He stumbled across the room and started digging through the duffel bag for clothes that actually fit. He nearly tripped over the Hot Wheels track on his way back to the bed, almost slipped and fell as his foot hit wrapping paper. He had to find Dean. Dean could fill him in, tell him what was real and what was a dream. Yeah, Dean would know.

"Well, look who's back." Sam turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Dean was standing in the doorway with a box of garbage bags in his hands.

"What happened?" Sam asked, gazing around the room and hoping for an honest answer. He'd sure as hell gotten a lot more honesty from Dean than he'd expected over the past couple of days, at least, if he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"You don't remember?" Dean asked, with a subdued glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I… you… I was there. I was awake the whole time. I thought I was having a dream. A nightmare. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control… I was _six_."

"You do remember, then," Dean grinned, that glimmer of hope quickly fading, "good. You can help me." He pulled out a trashbag and got onto his hands and knees on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing up the stuff. I figure we probably won't get much use of it, might as well give it to Goodwill. Someone should get something for Christmas, even if it _is_ a little late."

"You went out and bought all that stuff?"

"Yeah. Now, you gonna help me out here, or just let me do everything myself?"

Sam scooted to the edge of the bed. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Yeah I did. Only way to get you back. Besides, it was fun. I haven't gotten to actually unwrap anything since I was three." He pulled boxes and packages into the bag, filling it as best he could, before standing up and tying the top. "So, you gonna help me take this stuff in, or you just gonna sit on your ass all day?"

Sam shook his head, still trying to make sense of everything. He'd been turned him into a kid, a freakin' _six-year-old kid_, and now the elder was acting like it was an everyday occurrence? Hell, Dean hadn't even seemed freaked out when he'd woken up that first morning. What was wrong with him?

And then, Sam remembered. It hit him just as Dean was walking out the door. _"He wished that kid could get the Christmas he'd always wanted. And it came true." _Of course. It had been Dean. It had been an accident, but, still… six-_freaking_-years-old! No amount of gifts in the world could change that, even if one of those gifts happened to be an adorable little puppy.

"_The next year, the older one went out and got his brother something really special, but the guy didn't want it."_

Sam looked over at the dresser, then at the motel room door. Dean wouldn't be back for a while. It couldn't hurt to peek, could it?

The hunter crossed the room and pulled open the dresser drawer, finding his badly wrapped gift still nestled inside. Knowing Dean, it was probably a switch-blade, or some kind of ammo, or something stupid like that. Something Sam really didn't want, but needed just the same.

He sat back down beside the puppy and tore the paper off the package. What he found underneath all the tape (how did Dean afford that much tape, anyway?) was the farthest thing from ammo he'd ever seen. It was a small book, with a picture of Sam and Jessica on the front cover. Curious, he opened it.

Every page was a different collage of pictures from various moments during his stay at Stanford. Some of them showed Sam with his old friends, friends he hadn't seen in over two years, but most were of him with Jess. In the back, a couple of discs were nestled under plastic for safe-keeping.

He closed the book, staring at it. "I, uh, I e-mailed some of your old friends," Dean explained form the doorway, and Sam was shocked to find that he hadn't heard his brother enter, "I told them that I wanted to make you a scrapbook, and they sent a bunch of pictures over. A couple of them sent videos, too, and I transferred them to discs so you can watch if you want."

"Dean, that's…"

"Um, if you don't like it, you don't have to keep it. I just thought, maybe, you know… since you don't really have any pictures. After the fire, I mean, there was nothing, and-"

"I love it."

"Really?"

Sam grinned. "It's perfect. I never thought…"

"You were expecting ammo, weren't you?"

The younger man blushed. "Kind of, yeah."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. When are you ever gonna learn that I'm not dad?"

"Past couple of days pretty much did it. Dad never would have done that." He set the book down and watched as Dean took another trash bag and started piling wrapping paper and bows into it. "Speaking of dad, um, why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That he's dead. You lied and told me he was on a hunt."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but that's the only thing I lied about. You should consider yourself lucky I didn't ship your annoying little ass off to the nearest orphanage."

"You gonna tell me why you lied, or do I have to guess?"

"Hey. You try telling a six-year-old that his daddy's dead. I wasn't dealing with that."

"Even though this year's Christmas fiasco _was _your fault," Sam pointed out, grinning.

Dean stopped gathering paper and straightened up. "I didn't think-"

"Oh, I know, I know," Sammy said quickly, realizing his mistake, "hey, I'm not complaining. Best Christmas I've ever had. Just lucky you figured out what caused it, otherwise you might've had to play dad."

The older man nodded, throwing the bag over his shoulder and looking ridiculously like a young, extremely attractive Santa. "So, you coming to Goodwill with me, or not?"

"Think I'll stay here and stand up a little," Sam grinned, "damn, it's good to be tall."

"Yeah, it was fun while it lasted," Dean admitted, pulling open the door.

"Hey, Dean?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"What about that?" Sam pointed to the Hot Wheels track and cars.

"Oh, we're keeping the Hot Wheels," Dean smirked, turning back toward the open door.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"You bought yourself a Barbie?"

"_Ken_, Sam, _Ken! _And how could I not? He looks just like me." He turned back toward the door.

"Hey, Dean?"

"What now?"

"You put a puppy in a box?"

"Dude, there were holes in it! Which reminds me, we should probably leave town before the local Humane Society realizes he's missing."

"You _stole _him?"

"_No_, Sammy, I gave him a good home."

Sam chuckled as his brother turned back toward the door. "Oh, Dean?"

Dean spun around again, clearly agitated. "_What?_" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I, uh," he coughed, clearing his thought, and looked down at Criss, who was busy licking his hand, " I love you."

"Love you, too," Dean smirked, "_bitch_."

Sam's head snapped up. "Jerk!"

From his place on the bed, Criss barked happily.

* * *

THE END.

So, any final thoughts? Like it, love it, think I probably should have done soemthing more productive this holiday season?


End file.
